


The Weekend of the Party

by thebermuda



Series: The Boarding School AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebermuda/pseuds/thebermuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim pushes Sebastian to see just how far his submissive tendencies go, and Sebastian loves it.</p><p>Also in which Severin takes Richard to a party, and Richard realizes he's not the only boy who likes boys.</p><p>A companion piece/sequel-ish to "Golden Morning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning

He wasn’t sure how this had started. It seemed that one moment he’d been asleep, and the next he was being used as a cat post for Jim’s claws. Hadn’t he teased Jim about that before, in front of the other boys? Anytime Jim tried to spit out a comeback to his bullying, Seb would go, _Ooh, look at that. Our little Jimmikin’s got claws._

Not that he’d said anything like that this week. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to Jim at all since the shower incident. They took to avoiding each other in the halls, both frequenting their room as seldom as possible. Sebastian wasn’t sure why. It was just the way it’d happened. There was, however, one thing Sebastian was certain of: He’d never been this painfully hard in his life.

“Jim,” he croaked now, swallowing hastily when his voice came out hoarse and strained. “Jim.” He tried to sound cool, indifferent, wondering if Jim could see his hard cock from his angle. He didn’t think so. “Jim, fuck off. This hurts. I want to go back to sleep.” 

“It’s almost time to get up for class.” 

The whole point of a freshman like Jim sharing a room with Sebastian was so that Sebastian could “mentor” him. Make sure he did his homework, went to bed early, got up in time for class. Yet it seemed to be Jim who was always waking Sebastian up. Not that he’d ever done it quite like this before. 

“Then I need to get ready,” Sebastian hissed. 

Jim, the little fucker, didn’t even bother responding. He pierced a nail into Sebastian’s back, carved it downwards like the tip of a blade. Sebastian bit his lip, squeezing his fists. He didn’t let himself move an inch, make a sound. Jim dug deeper, apparently in retaliation to Sebastian’s protests. Blood trailed down his spine like fingertips. 

“Am I – am I bleeding?” Sebastian said, fighting a gasp. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Would you be quiet and enjoy it?” Jim sounded genuinely annoyed. “You obviously like it or you’d throw me off your bed. So shut up and close your eyes.” 

There was a moment when Sebastian remembered he could. Throw Jim off, that is. Do whatever he wanted to Jim. Hit him, or kick him out of the room, or make him go back to sleep until their alarm went off. But even as he imagined it he wasn’t really imagining it; he was picturing how terrible it would be to let this feeling go, this terrible feeling, these stinging, electric, awful sensations. 

Sebastian bit down against his wrist. _Don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t moan._ He tensed every muscle, begging his body not to give him away, not to tremble with the agonizing pleasure of it. Jim’s nails dug deliciously into his skin, his entire back a bare, defenseless wall open to Jim’s torture. 

Jim shifted. Sebastian could feel the mattress sink beneath his adjusted weight. And then Jim bit. 

His mouth was on Sebastian’s shoulder, teeth coming down _hard,_ and Sebastian bit his own wrist again, right at the bone, swallowing down a scream. This was horrible. This was so good, and his eyes stung with held-back tears, from the revelation of it, the knowledge that something could feel so horribly good. 

By the time Jim reached for Sebastian’s hips and pushed down Sebastian’s briefs, leaving him pathetically bare, Sebastian was in no state to protest. He was soaked with blood and perspiration, trembling despite himself. He hissed, shook his head, struggled as the cold air hit his cock. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could sense Jim ducking down and around. Inspecting Sebastian’s cock? Moments from biting it off? It didn’t fucking matter. Sebastian knew that whatever was on Jim’s brain, he’d let Jim do it. 

Jim blew. His breath was cold, and he moved his head up and down, soft hair rubbing against Sebastian’s hip. Sebastian’s cock bobbed, precome swelling excitedly at his tip. 

“Fuuuuck.” Breathy whisper. _“Fuuuuuuuuck…”_

Then an explosive, exquisite sensation. Sebastian scrambled to look down, thinking he knew that feeling, but not daring to believe that Jim would ever – 

Jim’s mouth was around the tip of Sebastian’s cock. Just the tip, but wet and tight and sucking all the same. 

“I’m close, I’m close, I’m close,” Sebastian said, not meaning to repeat himself, just wanting Jim to know that – 

YES. Fuck, fuck – yes – 

“No!” 

Jim’s mouth popped off of Sebastian’s cock just as Sebastian’s orgasm began. Sebastian squirmed frantically, reaching – 

“Don’t touch it,” Jim ordered. 

Sebastian cried out, wriggling. It hurt. His cock was throbbing painfully and it needed to be touched, any kind of sensation at all, or this pain would continue. It was so painful he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t – 

“Please, please let me touch it. Please, Jim, please. Please.” He was begging but he didn’t care. He just needed Jim to let him, needed Jim to say he could. Make it better. Please. 

“Alright. Now you can,” Jim said. The glee in his voice showed that he already knew what Sebastian’s hand found out moments later. The orgasm was halted, gone. Sebastian rubbed his length and hissed. Oversensitive. It hurt. Too late. 

“Fuck you,” Sebastian said, but there wasn’t any fight behind it. He collapsed weakly, damp with sweat, against his pillow. There was a glop of pointless come on his thigh. His cock still felt sore. 

Jim’s eyes blazed with victory, and Sebastian would say he was callous if it weren’t for the fire he saw there. Sebastian felt so weak. He was certain his alarm would go off any moment, and he was in no state to get ready for class. 

“Good boy, Moran,” Jim said. 

“Fuck you,” Sebastian said again, nothing more than a whisper. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The room was so dark, and his bed was so soft. He was sure he was getting spots of blood on his sheets but he was too tired to care. 

“I mean it,” Jim said. He reached out, and cold fingers swept Sebastian’s damp hair out of his face. “You were really good, Moran.” 

Sebastian tried not to smile and failed. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Jim’s smile matched his own. 

“Why’d you have to ruin my orgasm?” Sebastian whispered. 

It was odd. Jim was still in his pajamas, entirely unfazed, while Sebastian lay limp, his briefs at his knees, covered in sweat and come and blood. He was more thoroughly undone, more dirtied, than when he’d kneeled before Jim in the shower. But he didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment. He felt wholly relaxed. 

“I wanted to see what you would do,” Jim said. Sebastian wished Jim would stroke his hair again. He knew he wouldn’t. 

“What did I do?” Sebastian asked, eyebrows furrowing. He honestly couldn’t remember. He could see his own pajamas in a heap on the floor by his bed. He couldn’t remember how Jim had gotten him out of those, either. Jim had woken him up, likely, and simply ordered him to undress. Yes, that was it. Half-asleep, it’d been Sebastian’s instinct to listen. 

“You begged,” Jim said. 

Oh, yes. Right. 

Still, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“If you do that again, I’ll kill you,” Sebastian said. 

Jim chuckled. 

“I’m serious.” Sebastian yawned. “I’ll really, really, really fuck you up…” 

His eyes closed. He could hear his own voice fading. 

“Yes, Moran,” Jim said. Then he did it again. His fingers scratched Sebastian’s scalp, for all of three seconds, and Sebastian could have purred with the pleasure of it. 

“I won’t do that again,” Jim said. “Not soon, anyway. You were too good.” 

“Good,” Sebastian echoed faintly. 

“So good. That’s why, if you skip your little rugby party tonight, I’ll let you orgasm after dinner.” 

Sebastian’s eyes shot open. Jim had already moved, though, to the end of the bed. 

“I never go to those dumb things,” Sebastian said. 

“That’s because you’re such a good boy.” Jim was climbing the ladder to reach his upper bunk. 

“What’re you doing? We have to get ready for class,” Sebastian said, lifting his heavy head. 

“It’s 2 A.M., Moran. Go back to sleep.” 

Sebastian’s head collapsed back against its pillow. “Aw. Fuck you, Jim.” 

“Night, night, Moran.” 

“I’m serious. Fuck you!” He forced a little strength into his voice. 

“Don’t get wound up, or I’ll have to wear you out again,” Jim said from the top bunk. 

Sebastian held his tongue; he doubted Jim was joking, and he couldn’t take anything else right now. Secretly he was glad he still had time to sleep. (Although perhaps not secretly. He felt oddly as if Jim knew all his thoughts, his feelings.) 

Still, he had to ask. Just to have something solid to hold Jim up to later. Not that he’d ever mention it if Jim didn’t. But… 

“You’ll wear me out tonight?” he asked softly. 

“After dinner, Moran. Now hush.” 

Sebastian smiled. He reached weakly for his blanket, pulling it over himself, not caring if his come got on it. 

Tonight. Jim would touch him again tonight. 

He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about how badly he’d need a shower once he woke up. Not wanting to think about a day full of classes. None of it mattered. 

Jim would touch him again tonight. 

He fell asleep smiling. 


	2. Dorm Party

The paper ball hit the center of the back of Jim’s head. Bull’s eye. It was so wet with Sebastian’s saliva that it didn’t immediately fall off, not until Jim swatted it with his hand. The boys behind him stifled laughs, giving Sebastian admiring stares. Sebastian was a straight-A student and on the rugby team, his father an ambassador. He was like a god to them. It didn’t matter that spitballs were hardly original.

It got Jim’s attention, though. He swung around in his seat, cheeks flushed, and he looked around for a guilty face, eyes darting from boy to boy, because the spitball-thrower could potentially be anyone, considering how well-liked Jim was. 

Then Jim focused on Sebastian. His gaze was fiery. It promised revenge, promised _pain,_ good pain, perfect pain, and as pissed off as Jim was, Sebastian could see that he didn’t miss it when Sebastian shifted forward and put his notebook over his lap. 

Jim’s eyes narrowed and he turned around again. The teacher called on him, and he answered correctly without really hearing the question. The boys returned to translating, and Sebastian continued staring at the back of Jim’s head. 

* * * *

Richard had every notebook he owned laid out and open. The more cluttered their shared table was, the busier Severin would believe him to be. Which would justify Richard sitting across from Severin for as long as he wanted to. Because while Richard had finished his freshman’s load of homework this afternoon – hurriedly, during lunch break – Severin would be working for most of the weekend. Which gave Richard a lot of time to sit across from him. 

And there was the envelope, of course. It was sticking out from beneath a notebook, facing Severin’s direction. Just waiting for Severin to ask about it. Not that he would. Not that Richard wanted him to. 

Severin. Severin’s breathing was the only sound that filled the room. Evenly spaced, deep breaths. He had powerful lungs. 

He always sat in his chair the same way, in a manner that Richard couldn’t imagine being more beautiful: with his legs spread, often tipping back his chair, the perfect embodiment of ease and masculinity. 

Richard took this in and quickly averted his gaze. In truth he probably looked at Severin less often than he looked at anyone else. He was so scared that Severin would notice. His image of Severin was pieced together from a thousand stolen glances, all treasured. Fleeting though these glances were, when Richard _did_ look at Severin, he saw him. More clearly than he’d seen anything else in his life. The way Severin’s throat moved when he swallowed his tea, the dry skin of his lips. His long fingers as they tapped the table. Richard’s gaze flickered up and down, taking it in. Severin raised his hand, brought it to his face, rubbed his eye, scratched his neck, went back to tapping the table. He was translating Latin verse into English. Richard could feel him think, see the gears in his brain churn, sense his minute frustrations. Sometimes his lips would move, murmuring the Latin and then the English, and the sound of his hushed voice sent Richard’s heart hammering. 

Then Severin yawned. 

Yawning was a special performance. Oblivious, Severin tipped back his chair a few millimeters as Richard watched discreetly, his head almost buried in his textbook. Severin thrust out his chest, breathed in, rolled his shoulders. The image of Severin’s big hand held over his mouth ingrained itself into Richard’s head. Everything was still for the millisecond – the sliver of time – that Severin was displayed in this way. 

Then the breath was released. 

The yawn over, Severin went back to his homework. Richard felt like he was going to pass out. 

He was in love, and the envelope was burning, scorching with Richard’s desire for Severin to say, _What is that, Richie?_ Because he never called Richard ‘Moriarty,’ not like everyone else. He was the only one in the school who called him Richie, just as his mum called him, and it was their name for him, and he loved them. _Please ask about the envelope._

“Need help, Richie?” 

His voice! His voice was so deep! 

“Math,” Richard blurted. He always pretended he needed homework help when Severin caught him staring. 

Richard had done his math homework hours ago, but it turned out to be a good thing Severin checked it, because he’d done it all wrong. And he needed to get good grades. Because good grades meant his scholarship would be renewed, which meant he’d be able to stay at Eton with Severin. 

And bad homework meant Severin would point to each error with his pen, and speak so softly, and explain so clearly and patiently what Richard had done wrong. He was so nice. He was so nice! Why was he this nice to Richard? _I love you, Severin Moran. I love you, I love you, I love you. Severin Moran._

“What’s this?” Severin asked, and for a second Richard nearly cried out, because he thought Severin was reaching for the envelope. 

He was reaching for the envelope. Richard cried out. 

“Oh! Um, um, it’s – it’s – ” 

“A letter from home?” Severin asked, and he sounded genuinely hopeful. Like he really cared whether or not Richard’s mum had written. (She had, but that was yesterday.) Richard had cried for his mum every night for a week when he’d first gotten here, so Severin knew how much he missed home. 

Severin had already taken out the flyer and unfolded it. 

“Richie!” he exclaimed. Richard’s heart pounded. “You didn’t tell me you auditioned for the play.” 

He hadn’t even thought to tell Severin. He’d been too embarrassed, too nervous. Was Severin angry? 

“I’m sorry – ” he rushed to say. 

“Ophelia?” Severin said. “Wow, Richie, that’s a pretty big role for a freshman.” 

Richard felt like he was flying. His heart was soaring. 

It was a big role. For a freshman, it was huge. And Severin didn’t even laugh, like the thought of Richard dressing up as a girl wasn’t worth mocking. Not that Severin had ever mocked Richard. Not that he ever would. 

“This is amazing, Richie. I’m so proud of you.” 

Oh, God. He was actually saying all the things Richard had wanted him to say. And he was getting up, too, why was he – 

He walked around the table, bent down, and hugged Richard. 

Richard breathed in, and kept breathing in, too long, trying to smell Severin for as long as possible. He looked down, trying to see Severin’s back. His head was against Severin’s shoulder, and it was so hard, his arms were so much thicker than Richard’s, he was so warm – 

Severin stepped back. 

“Congratulations.” His smile was radiant. “We’ll have a cheers for you at the party tonight.” 

“Thank you, Severin.” 

“Hey,” Severin said suddenly, bending down. He was at eye level with Richard, and his eyes were blue. “You were going to tell me, right?” 

“Of course,” Richard lied. 

Severin raised his eyebrows. 

“I thought you wouldn’t care.” Richard deflated. 

“Richie. Why wouldn’t I care? I had no idea you liked theater. It’s great! And you’re obviously good, to have landed a role like this as a freshman,” Severin said. 

Richard shrugged. “You’re not in theater. You’re an athlete. So… I just thought…” 

Richard thought of how Severin, during Richard’s first weeks, had dragged Richard into trying out for rugby. It’d gone pathetically, of course, and neither of them had brought it up since. Between crying for his mum and being terrible at sports, Richard was sure Severin thought he was a baby. 

“Not everyone’s an athlete, Rich. Lots of people are good at other stuff. Like theater.” Severin reached out and ruffled Richard’s hair. Jim told Richard not to let Severin do that; he said it was condescending. Richard loved it. 

“Listen,” continued Severin, “I have to go set up things in Dalmar’s room. I’ll come back so that we can walk into the party together, alright?” 

“Like a date,” Richard blurted, without thinking. 

Time stopped. Why had he said that? Why had he said that. That was so stupid. Why. Why. 

Severin grinned. “Or like a mentor and their freshie, right?” 

“That’s what I meant,” Richard hurried. “Be-because all the other mentors and their freshmen will come together, too, right?” 

“Right,” Severin said. He stood. 

* * * * 

There was a moment when Severin was standing up and Richard hadn’t lifted his head yet, to look at Severin’s face, and Severin could perfectly see the top of Richard’s hair. He marveled. Rich’s hair was always lovely and clean, soft. Would it be weird to ruffle his hair again? Was it weird when he’d ruffled it the first time? Was the hug unmanly? 

It was amazing, how much Richard put up with Severin without a single complaint. Richard was amazing. 

“Do you need any more help with your homework before I go?” Severin asked. Little Richie would never ask for help, not verbally. Whenever he needed help, Richard would glance up at Severin with his big, doe eyes, until Severin noticed. He didn’t understand why Richard was still so shy around him, but it was sweet. And unerringly adorable. 

Richard shook his head, and that messed his hair up. Severin found himself reaching out automatically to touch it again, and he stopped himself. 

“Alright, Rich. See you in an hour or so.” 

* * * * 

Though he’d spent most of his meal looking, Sebastian couldn’t find Jim anywhere in the dining hall. He ate little, his stomach doing flips, maintaining an outward stoic expression as he scanned the tables. Boys who accidentally made eye contact with him quickly looked away. Normally Severin would join him, and all his rugby mates would follow, but none of them seemed to be here, either. 

Oh. Right. The stupid party. 

Sebastian hid a smile behind a forkful of food. The party. His party. His party with Jim, tonight, in their dorm. 

His trousers started to tent, so he dodged out of the dining hall without cleaning up after himself. The corridors were empty. 

Sebastian swung open their dorm door to find the room empty. The lights were on, though, and the curtains were drawn across the windows. Sebastian threw his things aside and saw that someone had replaced his dirty sheets from last night with fresh ones. It must have been Jim, as the maids weren’t due until next week, but that seemed uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

The room went dark. 

The door slammed shut behind him, and Jim – because the sneaky bastard must have been standing behind the door the whole time – said: “Take off all your clothes and kneel in the center of the room. I want your hands behind your back.” 

Just the sound of the little fucker’s voice, telling Sebastian what to do, made him half-hard. It took a second for him to orient himself in a suddenly pitch black room, and then he was reaching for the buttons of his jacket. 

He heard Jim breathing behind him as he loosened his tie. Jim wasn’t getting undressed. Was that his thing? Not undressing? Sebastian hoped not. 

After Sebastian had thrown all his own clothes aside, he got on his knees and put his hands behind his back. 

“Good boy,” Jim purred. “I’m glad you’re feeling obedient tonight.” 

“How the fuck can you even see me?” Sebastian said, hoping his voice didn’t reveal how aroused he already felt. 

“Shh. I’m turning on the lights.” 

Sebastian almost protested. He felt safer in the dark, hadn’t anticipated being on full, visible display like this. 

Lights turned on, Jim circled slowly around Sebastian, stopping directly in front of him. The look on his face made Sebastian forget he was embarrassed. Forget he was naked, that he had a body. 

Jim’s eyes were deep and dark and his lips were set in a straight, cruel line. Sebastian recalled the spitball from earlier. Was Jim angry? Was this actually supposed to be Sebastian’s punishment, and not his reward? 

Maybe Jim didn’t think Sebastian was good after all. 

Sebastian’s thoughts began to whirl. He wanted to be punished. And not in a good way. He wanted to be hurt more than he could bear, because he was so pathetic, always bothering Jim, and Jim must hate him. _He_ hated him, hated himself, hated everything - 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Sebastian’s thoughts halted. 

Jim began to circle round again. 

“Do you understand yourself, Seb?” he asked softly. 

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, bewildered. Had Jim just said _'beautiful_?' 

“Do you have any awareness?” Jim sighed. “I mean – before. When you were bullying me. Did you think you were actually a bully?” 

Sebastian swallowed, looking down. Whatever punishment Jim thought up, Sebastian hoped it would hurt so badly that it would engulf any pleasure his sick, twisted mind could possibly derive from it. 

“Or did you know that you’re not a bully at all? That you’re a golden retriever panting at my heels, begging for my attention?” Jim’s fingers feathered across the back of Sebastian’s neck. 

“Hmm, Seb?” Jim prompted. 

Sebastian couldn’t speak. Had Jim ever said his first name before? 

As if Jim could read his thoughts, he whispered, “Yes, Seb. Do you like that? Seb?” Seeming to know, too, that Sebastian couldn’t form words, he said, “It dawned on me that you’re a more of a puppy than a boy, at least when it comes to me. And 'Moran' doesn't sound like a pet's name, does it?” Suddenly Jim lashed out and his nails dug into Sebastian’s scalp. Sebastian hissed. “Down, dog.” 

Sebastian bent down. Jim wasn’t really pushing, but guiding, and Sebastian didn’t stop until his nose touched the floor. 

“Stop. Don’t move,” Jim directed. Sebastian heard him sink down, too, sitting behind Sebastian. Last night flashed through Sebastian’s head; delicious nails, biting into his skin. 

Moments passed, and he knew Jim was inspecting him. He hoped his scars weren’t as bad as he thought they were, hoped Jim wasn’t repulsed. 

He could feel the heat of Jim, and then a soft wetness. He moaned before he could help himself, breath stuttering as he pushed his head harder against the floor. Jim was licking his cuts. 

“Your skin looks so pretty,” Jim said, rising again. Sebastian exhaled, trying to calm his throbbing cock. “I want you to see it. Get up and kneel in front of the mirror.” 

Jim opened their wardrobe door, inside which was hung a full length mirror. Sebastian kneeled before it. 

“Look over your shoulder,” Jim said. 

Sebastian craned his neck to look at himself. 

His back was still layered with pink lashes from his father’s Christmas whipping, but not all of the scars were visible anymore. Jim had scratched his nails down some of them, so that thinner, fresh cuts covered the scars. 

_I heard you boasting to someone about how you were skipping freshman Latin. I figured it’d be the only class we could have together, if I could just fail and retake it. Do you know how hard my father beat me over Christmas break, because of that?_

Sebastian stared, struck. His scars were covered by Jim’s cuts, which had intentionally followed the path of Sebastian’s old wounds. 

“Jim…” Sebastian said, oddly touched. Sebastian’s scars hadn’t healed, but he felt cleaner. Less heavy. The memory of the whipping didn’t seem so painful now. It was eclipsed by the memory of pleasure, of Jim’s body hurting his. 

“Do you want me to finish it?” Jim asked. 

Only the scars on his lower back had been covered by cuts so far. 

“You’d do all of it?” Sebastian asked. His heart felt strangely as if it were being squeezed. 

“If you want me to,” Jim said. 

“I do,” Sebastian blurted. 

The smile that crept onto Jim’s lips was slow and delicious. 

“Do what?” he asked. 

“Want you to,” Sebastian said, looking away. 

Jim bent down, eye level with Sebastian. Sebastian averted his gaze until Jim raised a single finger and placed it beneath Sebastian’s chin. 

“You need to say it,” Jim said. 

“I can’t,” Sebastian whispered. 

“I’m not going to hurt you unless you tell me how much you want it,” said Jim. 

Sebastian closed his eyes. 

“Jim,” he whispered. 

“Look me in the eyes, Moran,” Jim ordered. 

Sebastian did. “Please, Jim.” 

Jim’s lip twitched. “I can hardly hear you, Moran. Should we just get dressed and go to that party?” 

“No!” Sebastian said. “No, I.” He swallowed. He didn’t want his brother’s stupid party. He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim’s nails, overriding his father’s scars, making the pain go away while simultaneously making him hurt so badly. “I. Jim, I…” 

“Yes, Sebby?” 

Jim’s voice was so soft. It didn’t sound like a mockery, that name. Severin had used it before, and some of his rugby mates, when they were messing around. But it’d never sounded like that. 

Sebastian opened his mouth. He was going to say it. 

Hurt me, Jim. Please hurt me. 

His mouth opened and no sound escaped. He looked at Jim, panicking. He couldn’t say it. He wanted to, he did, but his voice – 

“Let me help,” Jim said, and his tone was almost soothing. Then he grabbed Sebastian’s hair and pushed him roughly away from the wardrobe, back to the center of the room. 

Jim’s pale fingers reached for his own neck, and Sebastian’s lips parted as Jim worked his fingers into the knot at the base of his tie. 

Jim stepped behind him. “Close your eyes.” 

Sebastian stayed still as Jim wrapped his tie around him. It made an effective blindfold, but Sebastian still felt like his tongue was stuck in his throat. 

Then Jim’s fingers were on the back of his neck. They were cold and they tickled. Sebastian jolted. 

“Fuck you,” he said, as the tickling elicited an involuntary laugh. 

“Hm? You don’t like it?” 

Sebastian squirmed, trying to get out of reach even though it was futile. 

“If you don’t like it, then maybe you should ask for me to hurt you,” Jim suggested. 

Sebastian laughed. In truth the tickling itself was painful, and going straight to his cock. He felt powerless with his hands behind his back, blindfolded, Jim forcing his own fingers beneath Sebastian’s arms, over his sides, Sebastian unable to predict how he’d move. 

“Fuck you!” he gasped, trying hard not to laugh and failing. Jim’s fingers were ceaseless; Sebastian felt like he was going to piss himself. “P-please.” He could scarcely speak for laughter. He squirmed incessantly. “Please!” 

Jim’s tickling slowed. He was close behind Sebastian, breathing in his ear. 

“Something to say, Sebby?” he exhaled. 

Sebastian shivered. He moved away from Jim’s hand, now on his neck. 

“Please,” Sebastian whispered. “Hurt me.” 

Jim’s fingers slowed, the tickling now mere tracing on his sensitized nape. 

“What’s that?” Jim asked. 

“Fucking hurt me,” Sebastian growled. 

A wave of pain smacked the back of his head. Jim’s fingers grabbed Sebastian’s hair. 

“Watch your mouth,” Jim warned. 

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes. Sorry.” It was easier to say that when he couldn’t see Jim’s expression. “Just – just please will you hurt me? I really, really want you to.” 

Sebastian gasped again as Jim ran his fingers down the back of Sebastian’s head, apparently soothing where he’d hit. Too quickly Jim’s hands disappeared. 

“Put your head in my lap.” 

Sebastian jolted as he realized Jim had moved from behind him to in front of him without his realizing it. Before he could respond, Jim took him by the hair again and was shoving him down. His face was smothered against Jim’s crotch. 

Fuck. Through the material of Jim’s trousers, Sebastian could feel his cock. Jim was just as hard as he was. 

Jim kept Sebastian in place for several long moments. Maybe it was degrading, but Sebastian liked the heat of it, of Jim’s thighs on either side of him. Liked feeling Jim’s cock. 

Then Jim was zipping down his trousers. 

“It’s important to know when to speak,” Jim said, lifting Sebastian’s head as he shifted. “It’s also important to know when I want you to shut up. Open your mouth.” 

Sebastian gagged as Jim’s cock was shoved into his mouth. Jim held him in place, saying, “Shhh. Shhhh, Sebby. Take it.” 

Sebastian had never sucked cock before. Severin and his fucking rugby twats loved sucking cock, didn’t realize or care about how they looked down on their knees. Sebastian was always the one standing up. 

Sebastian made Jim laugh as he gurgled and coughed. His face was scorching hot; saliva dripped out of his mouth and down Jim’s cock. 

“Shhh. You can breathe. Come on. Suck.” 

After a moment, Sebastian obeyed. It felt so easy, in his personal dark, to do whatever Jim asked. As certain as he was that he’d never done this before, he was equally certain Jim had never had his cock sucked before. He wanted to make it good. He wanted to make it good so that Jim would let him do it again, would maybe even leave the blindfold off, let him see. 

Sebastian moaned, sucking harder. Jim laughed above him. 

“You’re so adorable, Sebby,” Jim said, and he sounded out of breath. 

Then Jim’s work began. 

He had scratched at Sebastian’s lower back last night. Now he worked on his shoulders. Sebastian was entirely enveloped by Jim: his scent, his sweat, his precome in Seb’s mouth, his nails in Seb’s skin. They weren’t having sex, but somehow this was more intimate, was the strangest and most enthralling thing Sebastian had ever done. 

“Slow down.” Every now and then Jim would smack him, and Sebastian would slow his bobbing, give Jim a chance to recover, ease off the climax. 

“Who knew you’d be such a good cocksucker, Sebby?” Jim had gotten into a rhythm, was scratching at Sebastian with both his hands. “You’re so _surprising,_ Sebby. I love _surprising.”_

Sebastian loved pleasing Jim, loved hearing that Jim was pleased with him. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing something right. 

Then Jim shoved him off. Sebastian was disappointed to hear Jim zipping himself up again. 

“All done,” Jim sang. “And you look so pretty. Want to see?” 

Sebastian nodded eagerly against Jim’s crotch. Jim unknotted the blindfold-tie with adept fingers. Before he could look around the room, Sebastian was yanked toward the mirror again. 

“Do you like it?” Jim asked. 

Sebastian looked over his shoulder. The pain had felt so random, but Jim had been as precise as he always was. Each one of his father’s marks was overridden by one of Jim’s. Trickles of blood streamed down Sebastian’s back, but the cuts weren’t as deep as they felt. 

Jim was standing over him, waiting for a response. Somehow Sebastian sensed that the question wasn’t rhetorical. 

“It’s – ” Sebastian interrupted himself with a cough, choking on precome. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “It’s a masterpiece, Jim.” 

“Better than the party?” All of Jim’s movements were quick, sudden, and he was now crouched down, Sebastian’s hair between his fingers again, his grip tight. 

“What…?” Sebastian blinked. 

“The rugby team’s party,” Jim said urgently. “This is better? Or would you rather be kissing a bunch of freshmen right now?” 

“This,” Sebastian said, snapping out of his daze. “I’d rather this, of course. Why would I – ” 

Jim slapped him across the face. Sebastian had no idea what was going on. Jim’s eyes looked crazed. 

“Is there some boy you want more than me?” Jim asked. “Tell the truth. I know when people lie.” 

“No,” Sebastian said. “Why are you – ” 

Then he realized. 

“Are you jealous?” 

Of other random freshmen boys? Was he… Could he actually care? Care that Sebastian wanted him? 

Jim slapped him again. 

“Sorry!” Sebastian said. “I just – it’s not. I don’t. Jim.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone in this school can eat shit and die for all I care. Except for you. I only – ” 

“I don’t care what you think,” Jim said forcefully. “I was just curious.” 

Sebastian stifled a smile. He was absolutely certain Jim cared, and it was thrilling. 

“Well, to sate your curiosity,” Sebastian said, “I would rather die than suck anyone’s cock but yours. So there.” 

Jim paused, but Sebastian could tell he’d said the right thing. Jim seemed sated, the crazy look in his eyes gone. Then Jim said, “Hmm… I promised this morning that I would let you come, didn’t I?” 

Sebastian nodded eagerly. 

“And you’ve been very, _very_ good.” A little bit of that crazed look came back. “Has someone done this to you before?” 

“Done what?” Sebastian asked. 

“Made you wait so long? You’ve barely even tried touching yourself.” Jim frowned. “Someone from the rugby team?” 

Sebastian shook his head. Fuck, Jim was a jealous fucker. And it was kind of hot. 

“Good.” Jim patted Sebastian’s head. “So. How would you like it? Do you want me to suck you off, or would you rather fuck me?” 

Sebastian stuttered, gaping. He was on the verge of panicking, far too much responsibility pushed at him, when Jim cracked up. 

“So _cute,_ Sebby. You really think I’d let you make a big decision like that? You think I’d let you _fuck_ me?” Jim asked. 

Sebastian breathed, relieved, as Jim patted his head again. 

“I’m giving you a handjob. It’s all you’re getting, so don’t complain, or else you don’t get to come at all,” Jim said. 

“Not complaining,” Sebastian murmured, happy as Jim went behind him, pressing close. 

“Except,” he said, and stopped himself, eyes wide. 

“Hm?” Jim breathed in his ear. 

Sebastian shook his head. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. 

“What is it, Sebby?” Jim asked, and his voice seemed soothing enough, but he knew Jim would get mad if he didn’t come out and say it. 

“I’d like to feel you,” Sebastian said. 

“I’m right here,” Jim said, his entire body pressing up against Sebastian’s, not minding the blood. 

“Without your uniform,” Sebastian clarified, glad Jim couldn’t see his face. 

“Shh. You’re a good boy, Sebby, but that’s not happening,” Jim said. He mouthed at Sebastian’s neck, lips brushing sensitive skin. Sebastian’s cock throbbed, impatient. 

“Promise I’m good?” Sebastian asked, eyes closing. Jim’s arm wrapped around, reaching for his cock, and Jim’s mouth was marking him in an oddly tender kind of way. Sebastian let his head back, leaning against Jim. 

“So good…” Jim whispered, and Sebastian bit his lip so that he wouldn’t cry out as Jim began to stroke. 

Sebastian didn’t want to speak. He didn’t. He knew he sounded like an idiot, knew he was so wound up that he was already verging on an orgasm, knew that Jim would remember this – remember Sebastian acting like a fool – much better than Sebastian would. But he said, “I want to be good. For you.” 

“Aww. Shhh, Sebby. You’re too sweet.” 

“Mmm…” Sebastian squirmed in Jim’s arms, Jim’s hand rubbing faster. The heat was building, bubbling up inside him. Jim kept murmuring in his ear, and that was the best part, his beautiful brogue, telling Sebastian he was good. 

All the words blurred together, an indistinguishable pool of ecstasy, until: _“I’m proud of you, Sebby.”_

Sebastian cried out, hips thrusting. Pleasure boiled through him, eyes squeezed shut. He grabbed behind him, shoving Jim as close to him as possible. Jim’s mouth bit his neck, and it was too much, too much pain, Jim was _proud_ \- 

“I want to be fucking good for you.” Sebastian had no idea what he was saying, but he said it through gritted teeth. A moment later Jim’s hand, still rubbing, felt painful against his sensitive cock. 

Sebastian reached out, but Jim had already released him. 

Before Sebastian could compose himself, celebrate an amazing orgasm that made up for whatever shit Jim had pulled that morning, Jim was in front of him and pushing him back on the ground. 

“Open,” Jim ordered, and Sebastian opened his mouth despite having no idea what was happening. 

Jim’s hand clapped over his eyes, blinding him, and he hissed, “If you open your fucking eyes, Moran, I’ll claw them out.” 

Sebastian kept them squeezed shut. He heard Jim unzip on top of him and then, seconds after he understood what was happening, Jim’s cock was in his mouth again. 

It felt familiar, this time, and almost relaxing in his post-coital haze. He was beneath Jim, literally getting mouth-fucked. He didn’t have to do anything. He simply lay, not caring much if he gagged, and Jim fucked his own pleasure out of Sebastian’s mouth. 

In minutes Sebastian was left with a mouth full of come. 

He was too tired to get up and spit it out, but he was saved from having to think of even the possibility of doing that, as Jim immediately ordered: _“Swallow.”_

He swallowed it down, and it was too salty, but he didn’t care. It was Jim’s. 

Jim collapsed beside him. The hard floor wasn’t comfortable, but it seemed ridiculous to want comfort now, just because they’d both come. 

Jim didn’t reach out to touch him. He left Sebastian mercifully alone, watching him but not bothering him. Letting Sebastian absorb what had happened. Taste the remaining come in his mouth. Feel loose and boneless, his back sore with its healing, with the erasure of his father’s beating. 

  


“Do you think my brother’s alright?” 

Sebastian had been drifting off on the floor when Jim asked the question. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. 

Sebastian had to take a moment of think of what Jim meant, of who Jim’s brother was. 

“At the party? Of course,” Sebastian said. “Believe it or not, no one on the rugby team is anywhere near as rough as you, Jim. Although,” Sebastian amended, “he’s probably getting fucked in the arse right now, if that bothers you.” 

“Hm.” Jim’s face was unreadable. Then he sat up, inexplicably energetic, and said, “I should fuck _you_ in the arse.” 

“No thank you,” Sebastian said. 

“You let me fuck your mouth,” Jim complained. 

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, “but my arse stays cock-free, thanks.” 

“You’ll change your mind,” Jim said, expression mischievous. 

“Because you’ll make me?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows. 

“Not at all,” Jim said, lip twitching in distaste. “You’re going to want it so bad, you’ll beg for it.” 

Sebastian laughed. “Nice thought, Jim. I’m going to sleep.” 

“Good. Roll over first.” 

“What?” 

“Onto your stomach,” Jim said impatiently, pushing at Sebastian’s shoulder. 

Sebastian listened, but said nothing. He was so exhausted that he didn’t care what Jim planned on doing. Even if Jim started clawing at his back again, he could probably sleep through it. 

Distantly he processed the sound of footsteps, of Jim walking around their dorm. He possibly fell asleep, but a few minutes later he stirred again as he felt a cold liquid on his back. 

“What are you doing?” he asked cautiously. Jim made some dangerous lab experiments, and he didn’t exactly fancy the thought of sporting any acid burns. 

“Shh. It’s something I made in chem,” Jim said, seeming to confirm Sebastian’s fear. Sebastian flinched before Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “Shh, shh. It’s good. Promise. It doesn’t hurt, right?” 

“Feels nice,” Sebastian admitted sleepily. 

“Your scars will be gone in a week,” Jim said. 

Sebastian had no idea what he was talking about. His father’s scars never healed, but he didn’t feel like arguing with Jim. Effective or not, whatever Jim was spreading on his skin felt soothing. So he let himself fall asleep to it, to the feeling of the icy goodness and Jim’s fingers, Jim’s touches, Jim’s murmurs, Jim’s… 

“Everything,” he breathed. 

“Hm?” said Jim. 

But Sebastian was already asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos.
> 
> Comments/honest critiques make me :D


End file.
